Emeka, …
‘That’s quite easy,’ you thought - you decided you were not going to call someone who dared you not to call them, especially one you did not know. Your scrunched the paper and tossed it into your trash can.
And you laid on your bed, waiting for sleep to whisk you off to the kingdom of serenity. However, the longer you hoped to fall asleep, the clearer it became that it was not happening. The soft slicing sounds made by your rechargeable standing fan failed to serenade you as they usually did. You could not comprehend why you came home to sleep but couldn’t fall asleep even after maintaining in one position for more than a score of seconds. Funnily, it was just one of the many thoughts coursing through your mind like a race track.
You wondered;
‘Does Grace understand that I did not only help her because I liked her?’ You felt you could have done that for anyone but couldn’t imagine what was going on in her mind.
‘What went wrong between Jumai and Toheeb? Did he say something inappropriate or make crazy gestures?’ You were uncertain if either of your assumptions was correct, but you could tell that Toheeb overstepped his bounds.
‘Who is the owner of the number? What do they want from me? How did the paper get into my pocket? Why wasn’t the dare for me to call them instead? Do they want me to call them, or do they want to mess with me? Did I do the right thing by disposing of the paper without trying to know what was up? Couldn’t I have tried calling the number when I can block the owner if they are up to mischief?’ You bombarded yourself with questions but got no answers.
Suddenly, you sprang to your feet. You raced to the verandah where you stationed your trash can. You peered into it but could not find the paper you deposited in it - you couldn’t even see a single white item. Beads of sweat assembled on your forehead. You flicked a finger across your face to dispel them, and they collided with one another, bursting into a stream that ran down your face.
‘Am I going to put my hand in a dustbin because of one stupid number?’ you weighed the thought of searching the dustbin.
You had emptied its contents at a dumpsite around the house after making breakfast earlier in the day and were sure that there weren’t any messy items inside it. Its content was only a few layers thick - Loya milk, Milo and Dorco shaving stick wrappers, pieces of pink serviette tissue and used pens were all you saw.
‘Who goes through a waste bin because of a random number?’ you wondered.
You concluded that you would not put your hand in a dustbin because of a random number and thought to return to bed.
‘What if I am still unable to sleep?’ another thought changed your mind.
to be continued…
Would you be worried if you were in Emeka’s shoes?
Do you think the strange number is worth perusing the contents of a trash can?
What else do you think?
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P.S: This work is purely fictional. Any semblance to actual persons (living or late), places, or events are merely figments of the writer’s attempt at keeping in touch with reality.
✌🏾 Sai anjima!
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